


Reversing the entropy of Dean Winchester

by SPNHP



Series: Brothers, through it all [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Case, Case Fic, De-Aged Dean Winchester, Dean Has Issues, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean needs hugs, Former Prostitute Dean, Gen, Genius!Dean, Hurt/No Comfort, John Winchester Abuses Dean Winchester, John Winchester Bashing, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kinda, M/M, Neglect, Pining Sam Winchester, Poor Dean, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Finds Out, Sexual Abuse, Underage Prostitution, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love, Witches, bisexual!dean, dean is sam's parent, in every way that matters, is canon dean, more like, past hurt/no comfort, sam finds out john abuses dean, sam learns some truths, smart!Dean, still set in my, there's fluff, there's toothrotting fluff, world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNHP/pseuds/SPNHP
Summary: en·tro·pyˈentrəpē/noun1- A thermodynamic quantity representing the unavailability of a system's thermal energy for conversion into mechanical work, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system.2 - Lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.Sam Winchester always wished to be able to know hs brother better, to see past his barriers and deflections. But, when a hunt goes south and Dean is the one caught in the crossfire, he'll realize he should be careful what he wishes for!Or, the one with de-aged Dean with a twist, serious amount of angst, past hurt/no comfort, present hurt/comfort, and Winchesters taking care of each other.(This contains seriously disturbing themes, that might be triggering. Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but please read the tags).(Inspired by "Playing Mary" because I believe that the abuse Dean endured took place in a similar fashion to how the fic describes and by "The Galilei Program" because I can see one stuation from the fc happening, but it'll all be explained later in the story).





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Playing Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/340521) by starsinjars. 
  * Inspired by [The Galilei Program](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902336) by [Dean_can_ride_my_impala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dean_can_ride_my_impala/pseuds/Dean_can_ride_my_impala). 



> Enjoy!

In hindsight, he probably could have researched the case better. But Garth had been too busy to give them too many details, and so Sam’d dived head first into the hunt, anxious to see how he and Dean would work together with their renewed bond (and Castiel).

Junction City of had been sporting a series of bodies showing up in the outskirts of town, all of minors, aged eighteen or younger, all covered in profound wounds and all having traces of sulfur in them. Sam’s first bet had been demons, which was what he’d told the other two as they drove. Upon arrival, they had checked in to a nice motel for a change (Sam was sporting a busted shoulder which wouldn’t be able to handle the usual treatment from bed springs digging into flesh, and Dean had a few wounds they’d rather not risk getting infected), ate takeout dinner that almost rivaled Dean’s cooking, and agreed to dig into the evidence first thing in the morning. They slept peacefully, and found out that the owner of the coffee shop in front of their hotel was someone they’d saved ages ago, who was grateful and insisted they eat there as many times as they wanted, all on the house.

It all went downhill from there.

Firstly, Garth had misread the paper, thinking there were traces of sulfur _on_ them, but instead, it was _in_ the victims’ systems. Secondly, despite all the bodies, not a single one of them matched missing people reports from anywhere in the state. Thirdly, there was no sign of demon activity nowhere in town. It was frustrating, nerve-wrecking, and, by the end of the week, the only theory they managed to come up with was Dean’s half-hearted suggestion that the victims were de-aged adults. It was shot down by the other two pretty quickly: What had the power to not only de-age them, but keep it that way after death?

The answer was pretty simple, as they later discovered; Witches.

It had been a lucky break, actually, that lead them to solving it. They were driving by an abandoned factory, after yet another frustrating visit to the coroner, and heard screams, childlike and terrified, coming from inside. They’d burst in, guns blazing, to find a circle of people chanting and drawing sigils in blood on the floor, gathered around two figures in the center; one, masked and imposing, was torturing a naked, shivering tiny form, the source of the blood-freezing screams they’d heard.

It was pandemonium. They managed to break the circle, but from then on, it was a cacophony of chants, shots, metal blazing through flesh, screams, and even an inhuman, guttural laughter. Sam’s shoulder protested the sudden rush of action, but held on as he shot, stabbed, twisted limbs and threw people around.

When it was over, Sam searched frantically for his brother, finding Castiel containing the last live member of the cult (they needed information), while staring down at the two tiny children on the floor, and Dean nowhere to be seen…

He blinked, once, twice, took a deep breath, and stomped feet over to where his friend was containing the barely-out-of-college boy, who seemed at peace with his fate.

“What did you do to my brother?” He growled, knife against his neck, mindful of the fact Dean was, _mercifully,_ apparently only knocked out, while the other child was still as a statue.

The boy looked up at him; a cold glare in eyes that looked like Dean’s but lacked his warmth.

“You’re the Winchesters, aren’t you? We were expecting visits from you wannabe heroes. Isn’t this just sweet how we took out the heart and soul of the team? You’re gonna crumble to ashes without poor little Deano bending over backwards to keep you together.” Sam shudders, and they all know the words have struck a chord, even as his glare turns steely and his voice becomes a low rumble, colder than the air around them.

“Here’s the deal, pal. If you know so much about us, then you know we’re pretty tight-knit with the king of hell himself. So, I’ll give you two options. Number one: You tell us all about your little group of _wannabe Goths”_ He spits it out mockingly “And what you did to my brother and how to turn him back, and we call Crowley and tell him to leave you to his lowest ranking demons. Number two: You keep your secrets to yourself, and we’ll make sure you’re top priority downstairs. Got it?”

The boy looks asserting, and Sam has to give it to him for courage (or plain stupidity). Most witches would be trembling on their foundations upon hearing such a threat from a Winchester.

“It’s almost cute, Sammy, how you try to emulate your big brother when he’s out for the count. The tone, the mockery, the little joke, you even tried to copy his blue steel look” He smiles, the dissimulated smile of those who have nothing or very little to lose, and goes on “And failed miserably, I might add. I liked your honesty, though, how you didn’t even try to pretend you aren’t going to kill me if I spill the beans. I’ll give you what you want, but I’d like to be released.”

At their hesitancy, he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“The angel can restrain me with his so-called grace; I’m just not that into being held down physically.”

Sam and Castiel share knowing looks, and with a few gestures, the he-witch his sitting on the floor, cross legged, cool as a cucumber and almost bored, as if the shreds of light and grace binding his wrists in front of him are a mere inconvenience.

“We’re a really old, really powerful coven, which spread across North America in the time of the pilgrims. What you just killed? One of the branches in the US. Don’t even try, I won’t tell you about the others, even if I knew.” Sam seems so close to snapping even the boy senses it, and amusedly continues “We get our powers by appeasing ancient creatures, things so old they saw the birth of the oldest demons. They feed on children’s resilience, on the bright minds of youth, on those who’ve suffered from the start but were strong enough to survive. Now, you see, it was easier to snatch up a couple kids every now and then, in other times. But things changed, they got hungrier and a child’s death now calls too much attention. So we decided to use adults, or de-aged ones, at least. But, for them to be useful, they had to be put through their best and worst memories in rapid succession, so their souls have the fresh feeling of resistance. Dean’s a toddler right now because, even if all of you broke the circle, he’s the one whose childhood appeals the most to our purposes, and the spell found him. He’ll grow older to accompany the memories. Oh, you’ll get to see and experience all of them, isn’t that just a treat?” Sam feels something almost alive settle in his stomach, the ugly truth of knowing he is almost glad this is going to happen. “Bet you’ll love the bits bout papa bear John, I wish I was there to watch them.” Neither bites the clear bait to ask for more information. If they’re gonna violate Dean’s privacy, let it be through a spell and not by asking out loud.

“Usually, we kill our vics when they reach their absolute worst memory, but without interference, he’ll age until he’s eighteen, and after the last memory, you have to bath him in pig’s blood, red wine and graveyard dirt, and he’ll go back to normal, no aftereffects. Well, besides the fact you’ll learn all of his dirty secrets. And oh, boy, are they dirty.”

He looks around, expectantly, but Sam is glued to the floor, so Castiel is the one that pulls out a gun and puts a bullet through the witch’s brain. He slides down to the floor, creepy smile etched in features that would have been endearing in any other situation.

“I could not sense lies, but I’ll look into it, see if we can reverse it sooner or dodge seeing Dean’s….Memories. The other child died, I‘m guessing the creature took his life as we were fighting. You should tend to Dean; take him back to the Bunker. I’ll salt and burn the bodies and meet up with you then” He states all of this while moving rapidly, picking the small child up and brining him to Sam, who feels his whole being ache as he picks up his toddler older brother and holds him close against his broad chest.

Dean looks about three years old, if Sam had to guess, and he was an adorable child. Long blond hair falls over his ears, his mouth is pink and puffy and seems to be stuck in a permanent pout even as he sleeps, and the freckles adult-Dean despises so much dust his chubby cheeks like stars made of gold, copper, honey and amber.  It’s numbing, seeing his fortress of a big brother so tiny and frail, swimming in the fabric of one of his flannels as he makes his way to the car.

Dean holds on to his shirt as Sam tries to lower him on the backseat of the car, and the sound he makes is so sorrowful that the now older Winchester wants nothing more than to cuddle him close to his chest and never let go. Still, Dean protests no more as he curls into a tight ball around himself, and Sam breaths easier when he slides into the driver seat of the car.

He wastes a few moments, looking at his tiny big brother sleeping peacefully in the rearview mirror, and has to shallow a burst of panic that threatens to overwhelm him. What does he or Cas know about taking care of a child? How are they going to pull this off? Are they really going to see all of Dean’s worst memories, learn things the hunter had probably buried so deep, no one was supposed to find? Does it make Sam a bad person for wanting to know, even if it’s mostly to help his brother? And what did the witch mean, about their dad? Are they going to make it out of this one in one piece?

Sam shakes his head to clear it, and decides to take one step at a time. Firstly, he has to take Dean home, make sure he’s healthy and clean and fed, and then he can freak out. For now, his big brother for once needs to be taken care of, and he’ll be dammed if he fails Dean at this.

In hindsight, he probably should have researched the case better. But now, they’ll do as Winchesters do, and handle the crisis in their hands while trying to keep their family together.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first vision....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schomp, schomp, and more schomp! If it's not clear, normal text is the timeline of the fic, italics are the memory, and bold is Sam's thoughts during the memory. If anything is unclear, feel free to talk to me (or for any other reason, I don't bite). Hope you enjoy it, and feedback is always appreciated!  
>  EDIT: So I found an embarassing number of error when I went to reread this after I posted (I was in a hurry) so if you reread it and it's different, know I edited it! No changes to the plot, just grammar, a couple continuity errors (pretty minor, involving Dean's age and the dialogue hen he wakes up) and the like.

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to turn him back sooner?”

Sam and Cas are sitting on the library, Castiel calmly explaining, again, that his research had confirmed everything the witch had said. Dean is still asleep, curled up in an ancient cot Sam had dug out of a storage room.

Cas had quickly scanned him when he’d arrived, a couple of hours after the brothers, placed his age at about four years old, and deemed him healthy. It still made Sam antsy, how his brother hadn’t even stirred in the long car ride or the bumpy path to the cot where he now laid.

“I’m positive, Sam. We could try an ageing spell, but it’d probably do more harm than good, since we don’t know the affects of the first spell on his mind, and considering the nature of it, and it’s intentions. It’d be quite probable we’d end up with Dean in an adult’s body but child’s mind, or having to see his entire life’s memories, not just until he’s of age. It’s better this way.”

Sam shuddered; thanking whoever was listening the latter option wasn’t true.

Dean chose that exact moment to start waking up.

It wasn’t his usual bolting upright or grumpily staling for as long as he could. It was slow and child-like, tiny fists digging into sandy eyes as he sheepishly sat up on the cot, looking around in bewilderment at the strange place he was in.

It was unnerving, angel and hunter equally frozen and shell shocked, waiting for their brother and best friend to come to, unable to help case it startled him more.

"Mommy? Daddy?”

And there goes Sam’s hope that Dean still remembers them.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?” He asks, trying to copy Dean’s soothing tone (and to ignore the witch’s words, still a heavy lump in his throat) and not frighten the child as he stands up and makes his way to him.

“Yes sir.” Polite like the little southern mamma’s boy he was, but by Chuck if hearing those words directed at him from his brother’s lips doesn’t make Sam feel weird “Who are you? Where am I? Where are my mom and dad?”

Sam quickly spins a lie that sounds believable.

“Your mom and dad are sick, so they dropped you off here while they recover, so you won’t catch it. I’m your dad’s little brother” A low blow, but hell if it doesn’t seal the deal faster than any kiss “And this is my friend, Cas.” The angel nods solemnly at the tiny child “My name’s Sam.”

“I didn’t know daddy had a little brother!” Dean claps his tiny hands against each other, then frowns “Are they gonna be alright?”

“Yes, it’s nothing too bad, they just need to rest” The child nods, and then inspects his clothes with interest. He’s still wrapped in a flannel (that fit him perfectly a few hours before) and Sam wants to kick himself for forgetting that detail.

“We forgot to grab your bag from the car, and your clothes were dirty so I wrapped you in one of mine. We’ll go out later and buy you some comfy things, ok?” Sam doesn’t feel particularly happy about going out with his brother in such a vulnerable state, but Dean honest to God giggles and nods, and it’s so cute he can’t be too mad. Plus, he’s got Cas by his side.

That’s when Dean raises his arms above his head, making grabby hands at Sam, in the universal _pick me up_ gesture, and Sam melts from the inside out. Goddamn it if this tiny human being doesn’t already have his heart safely wrapped in his pudgy fingers.

“You hungry?” He asks, marveling at the softness of Dean’s hair against the crook of his neck as the kid nods. “Okay, let’s go to the kitchen and put some food in your belly, how does that sound?” Sam’s trying to mentally catalogue what they do have in the kitchen that a child can and will eat, and decides he definitely needs to hit the stores because no way in hell he’s feeding his brother frozen pizza and takeout for an extended period of time.

Dinner is a peaceful affair, all things considered. Sam ends up serving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because neither him or Cas have culinary abilities beyond that, but Dean doesn’t complain, and eats his with gusto. This tiny version of Sam’s big brother is as entranced with Cas as the adult one, listening to him with ravish attention, green eyes (too big and innocent to belong to Dean Winchester) focused on the angel as if he hung the sun, the moon and the starts. It’s adorable but makes Sam have to bite back the feeling of jealousy that often accompanies Dean and Castiel’s interactions.

“Can I call you uncle Sammy and uncle Cas?” And Sam knows Cas is just as in awe of child-Dean as he is with any other version of him, because the angel smiles in that unique way that makes the sun pale in comparison. Jesus, Sam should probably stop moping, especially when Dean smiles so brightly at their enthusiastic nods.

It’s still afternoon, so they make a shopping run to the closest city. Sam is paranoid, looking around suspiciously, thinking every person is a demon in disguise, every second he’s not hyper-vigilant is a opportunity he gives for their enemies to snag his frail brother from his arms and harm him.

It’s ten times worse when Cas leaves them alone, even if it’s necessary. Sam knows what it must look like, two grown men carrying a child who’s sparsely covered in clothes obviously not meant for him, so the angel decides to snuggle a few clothes for Dean before they up and pay for others, just so the boy can go into the stores without anyone calling CPS on them. Still, Sam doesn’t breath properly until Castiel is back, and holds Dean so tight against his chest that the little boy squirms in his arms and complains ‘uncle Sammy’ is giving him ‘ouchies’.

With the child dressed in a simple white tee, miniature jeans and plain black sneakers, they walk into the closest Walmart, and head straight into the children’s section.

Dean falls in love with a batman t-shirt that has a cape attached, and Sam feels his stomach jump and his eyes brim with tears as they put it in the cart, the boy babbling and chatting about batman and how he is the best superhero of them all. They decide to purchase a few clothes in many options and sizes, because Dean will age quickly and through his entire childhood and teen years, and no one would enjoy going into a shopping spree every couple days. Sam also grabs a stupid stuffed toy and a box of army man, in a bout of sentimentalism, and Dean squeals happily as he hugs the teddy close to his chest, naming him “Chevy”. Chevy Impala. Figures.

Food is another matter entirely. Dean makes puppy eyes that rival Sam’s as they pass by the pie display, and neither hunter nor angel have quite to strength of character to not buy a couple treats. There’s nothing Dean claims not to eat when they ask, but Sam has a nagging suspicion he’s forgetting one of his brother’s many allergies as he piles fruits and snacks on the cart.

They are stopped by more than one woman who coo and swoon at Dean’s adorableness, and the boy beams at each and every single one, making their progress through the store slow and tiring. More than once, Sam and Cas are mistaken as a couple, and they’re both too tired to come up with explanations. All in all, Sam can only be thankful his brother was an easy child, because if he’d had to run after him all over the store, on top of everything else, the mood would be a lot darker as they made their way back to the Bunker.

Dean is a lot more subdued when they enter the living room, bags in hand, and sits on the couch with a thoughtful expression, teddy bear held close.

“You okay, Dean? Missing your family?”

He nods against the brown fur of the toy, and Sam begs the child isn’t crying because he’s already way out of his depth.

“Hey” He sits by his brother, who burrows his tiny nose further into the fur and curls into a tighter ball. “Look, I miss my big brother a lot, in fact, I’m missing him right now, but I also love to have you here, and I’m here for you, alright? You and I and Cas will have loads of fun, and you won’t even notice how you’re missing them!”

Wet eyes fix on him from under long eyelashes, and for a moment Sam is worried he said something wrong, but then Dean visibly relaxes and rests his head against Sam’s torso, one hand on the bear and the other clutching Sam’s jeans.

Cas quickly puts their groceries away and excuses himself to go and organize Dean’s new clothes in his temporary room. Sam knows what he’s doing; According to the lore, the visions will only happen if there’s someone who was there when the spell was placed, in the room with the child, but they both agreed that Dean is slightly less likely to want to kill himself when he’s back if not both of them witnessed all of his best and worst memories. Sam can’t help but think, quickly but bitterly, that maybe it’d be better if Cas was the one to see them. Dean probably trusts him more.

He’s nursing those dark thoughts when the first vision hits him

_At first, he spirals through flashes of scenes, somehow seeing them all faster than heartbeats but still comprehending everything that’s going on, and quickly realizes they’re the context, not the main event, that the spell wants to show. He wonders what Dean would say about this, snickers slightly because he’d probably call the witches a bunch of gossiping old ladies, but the humor is subdued when he understands what he’s seeing: His brother, even younger than the one he left napping in Lebanon, begging for a younger sibling, pestering his parents ( **fuck, his mom is beautiful and double fuck when did his father ever look this happy?)** about it, showing them his friends’ younger siblings and vowing to be the best big brother ever. Dean’s first best memory is about him. Fuck, he needs air._

_Then, the spiraling stops, and Sam knows he’s got to the actual memory. He’s standing there in the living room of what should have been his childhood home, observing his mom and brother color on the table while his father watches from the doorway, and he knows now what the witch meant with ‘experiencing’ the memories as well as seeing them, because the wave of safety, comfort and love that flow through his veins can only belong to the little boy sitting on the chair, blond locks stubbornly falling on his eyes as he colors picture after picture his mom is putting in front of him._

_“Are you finished, buddy?” John asks, voice nothing like the whiskey drawl Sam remembers, sitting by his wife and child ( **the perfect little happy family, and he had to come and ruin it** ) and smiling wide when Dean nods and pushes the drawings his way._

_“Those look great, baby! Lets see what they show us, hum?” Mary says, ruffling her son’s hair as se looks, and Sam’s breath catch on his throat. They’re all related to big brothers and little brothers, in a way. There’s a family with a child looking at a little cocoon of blankets in the mom’s arms, a little kid peering into a stroller, a boy holding a baby in his arms, another one pushing a younger kid on the swing. **Dean’s first best memory is being told he’s going to be a big brother. Dean’s first best memory is being told he’s going to be born. Shit. Fuck.**_

_The little boy’s brow furrows, an adorable expression of curiosity as his mom hands him a final paper, this one with a sentence, printed out in huge letters. ‘I AM GOING TO BE A BIG BROTHER”_

_Sam watches as Dean reads out loud each sentence, impressed at his ability to do so at such a tender age, and then not being able to think much due to the wave of pure love, happiness, and joy that washes through him and threatens to double him over when Dean finally catches the meaning of the words. **Was that really how Dean felt with the news? Way to disappoint him, huh?**_

_“Really? Is it true? I’m going to be a big brother? I am going to be a big brother!” And the little boy jumps around as their parents laugh, both pair of hands placed on Mary’s slightly rounded stomach, where a much tinier par comes to settle then, accompanied by a solemn look on a puny face._

_“What’s the baby’s name?”_

_“We were thinking Samuel for a little boy, Samantha for a little girl. What do you think, champ?” John answers._

_Dean seems  to consider the thought, then nods and smiles, bending forward slightly to place a kiss on his mother’s stomach._

_“Hello, Sammy”_


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night that started it all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I got slightly carried away with this vision, but it's such an important milestone that believe it should be.... Imposing? I don't know if I quite did it justice, so let me know what you think! Also, please note english isn't my native language, so forgive any errors but don't feel shy to point them out!  
> Hope you enjoy!

Sam’s eyes snap open, the sound of a child’s voice still hinging in his ears, saying “Hello Sammy” in that intonation only Dean could ever muster up. Cas is hovering over him anxiously, and he panics momentarily (can’t feel Dean pressed up against his side) but soon relaxes when he sees the little boy sipping a juice box on the table, and tries to stand up, his shoulder sending twinges of discomfort through his whole body, protesting the effort after the earlier abuse.

“It was a good memory… Great, actually… Dean was being told he was going to be a big brother…”

Cas looks at him like he’s a particularly interesting puzzle, so Sam decides to cut right to business.

“How long were we out?”

Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, and Sam realizes he has fresh tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Not long, two minutes at most. Dean was fussing for a brief period, but when I got there, a few seconds ago, he was awake, and not confused as to where he was, so I believe he doesn’t age to match every memory, but to an approximate period, after all, we know for sure one memory that’ll come up and he’s still months too young.” Sam shudders, knowin exactly which memory the angel is referencing.

“Thank you, Cas, for looking out for us.”

“Anytime”

Sam squeezes the angel’s shoulder briefly, and strolls over to where his brother is sat.

“Heya Uncle Sammy, where you taking a nap? Mom says naps are very important, even for grownups, even if daddy gets grumpy when she says he’s napping after lunch.”

Sam laughs, a hearty sound that makes Dean smile, and sits down, affirming that yes, he was taking a nap, and no, there’s nothing wrong with grownups taking one.

_A few days later…._

When Dean gets back to normal, Sam is getting him awarded the medal of freedom, letting him pick the music even if he’s not driving, and buying him ever last pie he might want.

Taking care of a child is hard. Making them stick by a routine, setting up times for naps, eating and playing, making sure they don’t hurt themselves, cleaning up after their inevitable messes, giving affection when they need, helping with bedtime rituals, soothing nightmares… Scratch that, it’s a Herculean task, and Sam is an adult with stable housing and somewhat stable income, a literal angel to help and the commodities of the twentieth-first century (thank you, tablet). How Dean (because he had been the one to do it, after John stepped down from the role) had managed back in the eighties and nineties, while being a child himself, moving across country every couple weeks, without any sort of support system, and having to make do with the meager cash John’d leave behind, was a mystery, and not for the first time, Sam wants to wrap his brother up in a bear hug and try to transmit his love, appreciation and gratitude through osmosis, if all else fails.

He makes do by applying himself into being the best cuddle buddy this miniature Dean could ask for.

He thanks whoever is still listening that his brother was an easy child, easier than Sam himself, if he goes by Bobby’s, Dean’s, and even Missouri’s reports. Sweet and polite, the biggest tantrum the child had thrown had been a pout at being denied a slice of pie before dinner. However, Dean’s clear desire to please put a knot in Sam’s stomach, because he saw how easy it had been for their father to twist the boy’s innate eagerness to be good into the unfaltering loyalty of a soldier that still haunted his brother.

“Dean?” Sam hears Cas deep voice, saving him from his dark musings (which seem all too often lately) “Are you quite finished with your meal?”

The child nods, carefully setting sipping the remains of his juice. Remains which hit the floor in the tiles a few seconds after the angel’s question, and Sam knows instantly what happened, even before he’s caught in the swirl of colors and sounds. _Vision._

They’d had two so far, the second being the day Sam was born. The wave of pure, unrelenting, unwavering love that Dean had felt and projected upon having his little brother placed on his arms had been enough to send all 6’5ft of Sam crashing to the floor, both in the memory and in real life.

This, however, felt different. There was no backstory, only hunter and angel being dropped into the darkness of a hallway, right in front of a nursery they both know is going up in flames soon. Like the blond woman now walking past them with a little child in her arms, to say goodnight to her baby son.

_Sam had seen that scene more than once, through monster’s eyes and powers, in a dark and gloomy light, but never feeling the quiet affection that wavers through the room, radiating from his brother’s body as he presses a kiss to the infant’s forehead and says “goodnight Sammy”, or feeling the bittersweet pang of longing (all his) as John plays with his oldest. Before, he’d always seen it as the first night of the rest of their lives, the first night of hell, blood and despair. Now, he’s realizing it was the last night of their family, intact and glued together by love, not obsession._

_They watch as Mary also kisses her youngest goodnight, while John tucks Dean in, and Sam wants to scream at his father to go upstairs and sleep in the bedroom, not on the couch, but he can’t, he’s stuck watching the time run out as Dean fusses in his bed, unable to go to sleep. Could he feel it too, that the life he knows is going to disappear right before his eyes as he watches that night?_

_Mary passes by Dean’s room, and the little boy quickly gets out of bed to see what happens, being unknowingly followed by Sam and Cas. All three hold their breaths as Mary mistakes Azazel for John, and feel a deceiving peace as she stumbles out into the hallway, only to tense again as she bolts into the nursery, and Sam feels like his world is crashing down on his head as he hears the desperate “Sammy” his mother yells, and realizes that was the last word Mary Winchester said in life._

_John barges upstairs, Dean being quick to follow into his brother’s room, and while John goes to check the crib, Dean is stuck looking upwards at his mother, pinned to the ceiling and gutted like a fish. Sam wonders if it’s possible to die of terror, because the emotion sure feels strong enough for it when coming from his older little brother’s body._

_John yells as his wife catches on fire, and Cas grabs Sam’s shoulder so the taller man won’t topple over from the emotions. It’s a too familiar scene, a beloved blonde woman burning on the ceiling as Dean carries his bawling, terrified little brother out of a house on fire. This time, however, beyond the sorrow pouring from his own heart, Sam can sense the distress from a much younger one, and also the determination to save his brother that Dean was feeling. That was the moment everything changed, and Sam doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not when his feet leave the ground and he’s plucked out from the memory, still smelling burnt flesh and wood and hearing his own piercing cries._

~~_(I'd like to point out Dean looked somwehat like[this](http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/6500000/jensen-ackles-jensen-ackles-6522850-400-309.jpg) at this point..._ ~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Quick questions: Do you want the next chapter to be another vision, or some brother (and angel) bonding and schomp? Do you want Cas to appear more or less?
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds more about the layers of hs brother's trauma...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you had happy holidays and a very happy new years! i'd like to say I'm very, very, very sorry for not updating sooner, but real life got in the way... It was my sister's graduation from med school (and all the susequent events, things to be adjusted and resolved, makeupqhair/nail appointments, etc...) then Christhimas, my birthday, New Years... It was a terribly busy end of year, and I had no time/energy, and wrote very little. Then I open my computer to type the end of this chapter... And it was gone! The entire chapter! So, I had to rewrite it... I'm sorry, and hope you can forgive me, and that you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for all the support!

Sam didn’t know whether or not to be relieved when he got back from the night of the fire and found a slightly older Dean asleep on the floor. The answer quickly showed itself: No.

Five year olds are fussy. Annoying. Affectionate. Lively. They demand attention and ask questions and throw tantrums and talk loudly and have no concept of the consequences of their actions. They aren’t quiet and polite and jumpy. They don’t maintain solemn silences unless directly addressed; don’t have frightened eyes; they don’t know that monsters are real and that their father hunts them.

Honestly, a small, dark part of Sam was glad his father was already dead, or they’d have come to blows if he was there. Of course, Sam understood the main factor in this abrupt change ( _what wouldn’t he give to hear toddler Dean’s laughter just once more_ ) was their mother’s death, but still, the memory of Dean bonding with that traumatized little boy (Lucas, was it?) and getting him to come out of his shell lingered like a bitterness on the back of his throat when he saw his tiny brother’s eyes looking so wary.

Dean had accepted their explanations of being hunters like his father pretty well (Sam didn’t think he’d fall for the “your dad’s brother” again) but had looked floored at hearing “Your brother is with other hunters because neither us nor them could take care of two kids on such short notice.”. Sam immediately recognized the unsaid “ _I_ would take care of him.”. He was _five._ He wasn’t old enough to take care of himself, surely John wouldn’t…?

Apparently, he would, as proved by the vision.

The first one had hit them the day after Dean “aged”. Castiel had been in the library, while Sam helped Dean wash his hands on the kitchen sink, when suddenly, Dean jerked backwards, colliding full force with Sam’s chest, and Sam had almost no time to brace himself before the already familiar swirl of colors and sounds engulfed them.

“ _The ‘backstory’ of this vision was sadly familiar, frighteningly angering, and terrifyingly saddening. He watched as his father spiraled out of control into a path of revenge and darkness, stood powerlessly as the loving and caring dad slowly but surely disappeared, chased away by grief, newly-discovered monsters and the bottom of a bottle. He was spectator to the founding of their family’s dysfunctional ways, saw rage consume his father as he abandoned the friends that housed him after the fire ( **they’d only been trying to help but no one tells John Winchester how to raise his boys and leaves as a friend of his** ) and then Lawrence altogether, packing his kids away into the Impala and driving down the road that would later kill him._

_If it was solely his father’s demise he saw, he might be able to sympathize. He could understand the need for revenge, for blood, for peace, he could understand nightmares and grief and loss. But he’d never forgive what that did for his brother._

_His brother who was a child, suddenly motherless and as good as fatherless too, entrusted with a burden most adults found too heavy but that had no business being on such young shoulders: Taking care of his family. Sam knew he wasn’t really there, but damn it f he didn’t want to punch something when he saw his brother learning to sooth his hangover father and colic brother ( **John get yourself together your son needs you** ); change diapers and lay salt by the windows and doors ( **it looks so wrong, tiny fingers handling the cloth and pins and being so precise with the lines** ); make coffee and bottles ( **it was maddening, just watching, not able to wrench the boy away from the heat and responsibility** ); loose his childhood piece by piece, with no rewards besides the occasional ‘thanks buddy’ from John or baby Sam’s giggles._

_The memory itself was worse, somehow. Like in many of the flashes before, Dean and Sam where alone in a motel room. Dean was trying to get the baby to sleep, humming softly (he still didn’t speak, almost six months afterwards) as he rocked him in the foldable crib. John stumbled in, stubble covering his chin and the smell of whiskey on his breath._

_“Why are you still awake?” John asked his son, who pointed at Sam for an explanation._

_“Goddamn it Dean, can’t you do this one thing I asked you to? I spend all day working, and chasing after the monster who got mom, and that’s what I have to deal with when I get home? A fussy baby?”_

_Dean didn’t answer, and Sam could feel the anxiety snaking around his guts, emanating like waves from his brother’s body._

_Something in his father snapped, and he suddenly bolted forwards, towering or his kids and he spewed out hatred:_

_“I’m sick of this little game of yours, Dean. I know you can talk, so you better do it. Why aren’t you and your brother asleep yet?”_

_Dean simply looked up in despair, and Sam wanted to scream at the unfairness of the situation, when John lost it, and slapped Dean across the face, sending him crashing into the crib, and Sam into another crying fit._

_Dean was bawling, baby Sam shrieking, John blinking rapidly, and adult Sam floored. No matter how much he’ always hated dealing with drunk John, he’d never once hit him. He wondered if that was the only time, with a sinking feeling in his stomach he couldn’t quite name._

_“I’m sorry, dad, I’m so sorry…” Dean rasped out, voice rough with lack of use, and that snapped John out of his reverie, because he dropped to his knees in front of Dean and hugged him._

_“I’m sorry, Sammy wouldn’t sleep, I think he has the ouchies in his stomach but we ran out of medicine and I didn’t want to leave him alone, I’m so sorry…”_

_“No, buddy, it’s okay. Look, I’ll go out and buy some medicine, and then we’ll all go to sleep, okay? You can sleep in my bed tonight, alright?” John was rocking the child back and forth as he spoke, and Dean nodded against his collar._

_The last thing Sam saw before spiraling back was John going back out and Dean crawling inside the crib with his baby brother, apologizing to him as well.”_


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam reflects about his findings on Dean's childhood. Sam and Cas have a very heartfelt talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit of a filler chapter. Hope you enjoy it. I tried to explore Sam and Cas's relationship (give them one more like it), and I hope I got it right. Send me your thoughts!  
> Also, this briefly references my previous work "One Ticket to Chick-Flick Land, please" so you can check it out, if you want.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

 

After making sure Dean was alright and that Cas could handle him for a while, Sam all but bolted into the garage and sat in the Impala, trying to gather his thoughts and emotions.

Maybe it could see like he was over-reacting slightly. But it wasn’t just the slap, although he was against corporeal punishment. It was the combination of the memories that led up to it, the way John had placed all that responsibility on Dean’s shoulders, how he’d lost it when his son couldn’t measure up to impossibly high standards, and how he didn’t apologize for hurting his son, and made no move to correct Dean’s self-blaming. It was a pattern he’d observed through his entire life, he realized with fright.

Then there was Dean apologizing to his own baby self, which didn’t sit too well on Sam’s stomach, and made him come to a frightening conclusion; He’d never be able to see his brother, father, family, or life in the same light. How many things that he’d taken for granted about Dean were a result of John’s abuse and conditioning? How many things his adult mind would comprehend that his teenage self had so deeply hated? How many things like this had been “sanitized” for his own sake? He had a feeling it wasn’t just the monsters.

Would it be such a bad thing though? He flashed back to his psychology classes in Stamford, and how he’d longed to sit down and analyze his family against the textbook, but always pussyfooted around it, as Dean would say. He’d always acknowledged there was a lot he over glossed or misunderstood about his brother, so maybe now it was the time to face up to it and actually take steps to change what needed changing, acknowledge what needed acknowledgement, and appreciate what needed appreciation.

He was shamelessly justifying his curiosity now, he knew, but well, there was no one to listen in to his thoughts, was there?

Mind made up and a lot calmer, he tucked his and Dean’s “chick flick tickets into his pocket, knowing they’d be dearly needed in the near future.

_A few days later…_

Sam and Cas were having a Orange is the New Black marathon (which was a bit of a tradition, since they’d both started the show before Dean and refused to slow down to let him catch up, mostly to annoy him) and Cas was filling Sam in into the vision he’d lost.

They’d had two since the one in which John had slapped Dean. One had been Sam’s first steps ( _towards his big brother, of course_ ) which Sam had witnessed while waking Dean up, and which was safely tucked into a neat little shelf in Sam’s brain, where he stored all of the proof Dean loved him (that collection was massive and purely self-indulgent, but Sam figured he deserved it) for how purely overjoyed his brother had been as toddler Sam wobbled towards him. The other Cas had seen alone, something Sam was still bitter about ( _Those were **his**_ _first words, damnit_ ), and had promptly inquired as to why toddler-Sam would refer to Dean as “Bean”. ( _Sam had no recollection of doing such thing but he was filling that way for later teasing purposes_ ).

“He was trying to get an answer as to what you would like to eat for breakfast, when you said “bean!” and he tried to explain that that is not a breakfast food, but you kept on shaking your head and yelling “bean! Bean! Bean!” until he picked you up.”

Sam threw his head back in laughter at that, and enjoyed his friend’s companionship, the great show and the warm feeling in his belly.

It was a while before Cas spoke again.

“You know, watching those memories, I realize how heaven never stood a chance of getting the outcome we wanted with the two of you.”

The phrase, and the certainty in the angel’s tone, sobered Sam up slightly, and he sat up straighter in the couch.

“What do you mean by that, Cas?”

Found eyes bored into his, and Sam was struck momentarily by how wise they looked right now. This was not their dorky, affable and socially inept angel friend speaking, but the millennia-old, terrifyingly powerful, unimaginably knowledgeable, battle-hardened soldier of heaven showing through.

“You’re meant to be Lucifer’s counterpart amongst humans, Sam. You were carefully chiseled by the fates to be a creature of rage and darkness. The one infected with demon blood, boy-king of hell, Azazel’s favorite child.” Sam shivered, hating every last one of those titles, hating how close he’d come to owning up to them and his dark planned path.

“And yet, here you are.” Castiel continued “A good man, a truly, completely, irrevocably good, man.” Sam’s gut instinct was to deny, but he was stopped by Cas’s raised hand.

“It’s true that you’ve had your dark spots, and that those were pretty dark. It’s also true you’ve overcome each and every single one of them. You were supposed to bury yourself in hatred, not thrive on love. Ever wonder why?”

“I… I don’t know.” Sam stuttered, humbled by Castiel’s speech. How far had they come from the days of “Sam, of course, is an abomination”?

“Because Dean point blank refused to let you become who you were meant to be. I always heard stories of a boy who was a stranger to love and compassion. When I met you, it was the first time I truly doubted my brothers’ words. How could they be about you, when your love for your brother and his’ for you shone so brightly?” Castiel stared ahead, apparently deeply lost in memories.

“So Dean wasn’t supposed to love me?”

“It’s not that, per see… You were supposed to be mirrors to Michael and Lucifer, remember? And there were never two angels who loved each other as much as they did. The problem was, like Michael, Dean was supposed to do it out of duty, but that’s not what happened. Your father ordered for him to _take care of_ you, but he never ordered him to _care about_ you _,_ but Dean did. He didn’t just want you safe; he cared for you being happy. He didn’t want to be just your protector or older brother, he choose to be your friend.” Castiel’s tone was longing, and Sam remembered the angel’s confession to wishing for a connection that strong with his own siblings.

“I guess I never saw it quite like that. He did go above and beyond with that, didn’t he?” Sam chuckled fondly, remembering Dean’s years of trial and error into perfecting mac ‘n’ cheese to his picky tastes.

Apparently unable to pick up on Sam’s moroseness, Castiel hit play on the screen, and Sam let the intro music carry him away from his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like it?  
> Also, one PSA and one rant:  
> PSA: I'll try to upload one more chapter this week, and then I'll go about two weeks without updating. Reason: I'll be travelling, and won't have a)My laptop; b) time to write/post anything; c) reliable internet connection. Hope you understand.  
> Rant: I just realized that Sam's kind of a terrible brother? Like, don't get me wrong, like Castiel says, he's a good, amazing, wonderful person, but when it comes to Dean he kinda looses it? Like, he's this educated, smart, sensible person who knows who he should be and tries to act like it and has the best intentions always, but he is a bit dumb when dealing with his own brother. I'll aknowledge this in this fanfiction and analyze it, so please don't be mad! Also, please don't write hateful things; I have made it clear I neither hate Sam nor think he's a bad person, so there's no reason to lose your heads. Critcism, rants, meta, and questions are always welcome though, so comment away!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out the, perhaps, most disturbing thing from Dean's past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape, pedophilia, incest, non-con.  
> This chapter discusses the non-graphic but slightly explicit (as in, nothing is escribed, but it is named) rape/sexual abuse of a minor by a parent. It could be triggering. Thread carefully.
> 
> \------
> 
> This chapter references the story "Playing Mary" slightly, as in, has some similar circunstances to it.

Sam had seen a quite a few car accidents happen in his life. Growing up on the road, he’d witnessed countless wrecks, be it from the inside of the Impala, or from the windows of a road-side dive or diner. In all of them, there was the feeling of impotency, of “I could/should have done something” even if, logically, he knew he couldn’t. It was a similar feeling that drove him to the shooting range a long time after midnight, emptying clip after clip on a target, trying to come to terms with what he’d just witnessed, even if he was refusing to acknowledge it.

It was futile, but still better than dealing with his thoughts.

It was just when Cas appeared by his side that he realized he’d been staring at the target, gun aimed but empty, for quite some time. He minutely nodded to the angel, and spun on his heels, going straight to the bathroom.

Maybe under a spray of hot water he could think better. And freak out making less noise.

_“Do what I say and don’t ask questions”_

He wished they had a higher temperature setting, even if the skin off his back was treating to peel off.

_“Shhh, son, you don’t want to wake your brother up, do you?”_

He took a glance at the shower head that Dean had insisted they install super high so Sam could shower without neck pain, and wanted to punch a wall. Of course Dean wouldn’t want to wake his baby brother up, he was so considerate…

_“That’s it, that’s my good boy, you’re so good to me, buddy”_

Absently, Sam wondered if they’d scared tiny Dean with their outburst. Probably. Castiel had turned all angelic wrath, and Sam does look like John, after all…

_“Try to get some sleep, son”_

Because that was going to be so easy, after this…

_“Mommy” came the soft cry, tiny and scared and almost lost in the absolute silence of the night “Mommy, you said angels are watching over me. Are you an angel now? I… I need you here, mommy.”_

No, their mother wasn’t watching over them. Sam wondered if she’d shoot her husband if she was. He very much hoped the answer was yes. Or that he could do it himself.

At some point, he’d finished his shower and stood, forehead pressed against the wall tiles, eyes screwed shut and hair dripping. This wasn’t working. He had to get a grip on it. But to do so, he’ have to acknowledge it, and he’d frankly rather be in hell again. Maybe he was. Who even knew anymore?

Yeah, he’d just seen his father rape his six years old brother. That did sound like hell.

Saying it, even if just inside his head, opened the dams, and he tore the mirror off of the wall, throwing it on the floor just to hear something break, wishing it was his father’s face under his fists, wishing he could solve something, but he couldn’t, because Dean had been _abused_ when he was lying just a few feet away and that probably wasn’t the last time and he’d never realized anything and **how come no one had realized anything why had no one done anything why had this happened it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair.**

He was hysterical and needed to calm down before Castiel (or, God forbid, Dean) walked in.

Sam was methodical in getting dressed, cleaning the bathroom up, and going to his room. There, he sat at the foot of the bed, and took a few deep breaths. He had to think, sort things out, and not keep freaking out.

Dean had been raped. By their father. When he was just a child. Considering everything, he had to confront the possibility that it wasn’t the last time such a thing happened. **No,** he thought, remembering John’s cold, calculated looks and his heated, calculated words. **That was just the beginning.**

Sam wanted to throw up. Because, if he looked back, all the signs were there. Dean’s hatred for anything labeling him as “pretty” “effeminate” or “gay” _“You’re so pretty, just like your mom. Will you be good to me, like her?”_ , the amount of bruises that littered his skin as a child _“I’m just clumsy, don’t ya worry Sammy”,_ his behavior towards sex; hell, Sam had even noted that Dean had behaved more like a widower than a son after John’s death, but had dismissed the thought because it was too _ridiculous, wrong, disgusting._

Who’d have guessed John himself had groomed his son into being the _perfect little wife?_

Sam wondered why he had never noticed anything.  Why no one did. Surely Bobby would have noticed something amiss? Or Pastor Jim, who could sense a troubled heart from miles away? Caleb, who had adopted Dean as a little brother?

But he knew the answer. John was a con artist, Dean even better. If they didn’t want to leave trails, they wouldn’t. He could imagine his father drilling into his son’s head _“keep this a secret”_ like he had _“watch out for Sammy”_ or _“shoot first, ask questions later”._

He had to help his brother out. He had to tell him it was okay, it wasn’t his fault ( **oh god no we’re not in an after school special** ), he had to…

He had to sleep.  Tomorrow, he and (hopefully) Cas (unless the angel had gone to heaven personally annihilate John Winchester’s soul, which would be great except Sam wanted a part in it) would talk about it, and trace a plan. Tomorrow.

His last thought before falling into deep slumber were that of John’s hands, looming over Dean’s head like a guillotine and spreading poison through his veins.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's point of view on his discovery about Dean's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is super short and adds nothing new, just show's Cas point of view about what he and Sam discovered last chapter! I thought our dearest angel deserved a chapter about him, and also idn't want to leve you guys hanging for quite so long. Thank you for all the support so far, you guys are awesome!

Castiel had known humanity to be capable of numerous atrocities. He’d witnessed countless of them, participated in many, and wept for the hatred and malice that consumed his Father’s creation. However, it was sometimes easy to forget about their dark side, when encountered with the beauty they were able to create, with their compassion and determination and love.

So, seeing John Winchester hurt his own son in such a perverse way took his breath away (or would, had he truly needed it). It was vile, repulsive, unnatural. For a few seconds, his wings had flapped and his feathers ruffled, anger boiling in his chest. How dare a father treat their child like that? How could someone hurt Dean, bright, loving, selfless Dean, like that?

Sam, beside him, was a flickering wave of distress as he all but ran into the shooting rage. He was tempted to follow him (if anything, to shoot something himself), but the tiny, shivering form of his best friend stopped him short. What he was feeling couldn’t possibly measure up to what Sam must be going through right now. He had to be the level headed one, and tend to Dean while Sam dealt with his feelings.

It took all he had, all the years of training and strategy, to reign himself in and talk calmly to the child in front of him.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy mumbled, then looked up, questioningly. “Is Sam mad at me? Are you?”

How could he explain to such a boy, one who’d been traumatize into thinking that everything was his fault, that no, Sam was angry _on his behalf_?

“Of course not, you’ve done nothing wrong. Sam just needs a few moments, we… Went through a rather stressing ordeal.” They’d quickly figured out that Dean didn’t know about the memories, and that to him, almost no time passed when they saw one. It was perhaps for the best, but still slightly nerve-wrecking.

“Castiel?” Dean inquired, and the angel mentally reprimanded himself for getting so lost in his thoughts.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Do you think… Do you think my dad is actually coming back for me, sir?”

Castiel truly wanted to say that no, John Winchester was never coming back to haunt this child, but something stopped him. One, that’d be a lie, because Dean at that age still had many years of abuse to endure; and two, because he didn’t think the child would react well to this statement, even if he explained that he owed his father nothing. It was a feeling he could, unfortunately, relate to.

“I’m sure of it.” He forced a smile on his face. “I think we should head to bed soon. Are you alright to do it?”

The child stood up and nodded, but waited for Cas to signalize it was ok to turn around and go to his room.

Now alone with his thoughts, Castiel wondered. Wondered why his Father would allow something like this. Wondered if anyone else knew. Wondered if he should give in to his urge of resurrecting John Winchester so he and Sam could smite him. It was definitely tempting.

Cas lost track of time, but at some point, he realized Sam was still in the shooting range, and decided to intervene before his friend spent the night there.

He intended on talking to him, but when Sam saw him and, although acknowledging him with a nod, walked away, he realized the youngest Winchester wasn’t in the right mindset for this conversation.

So, for tonight, he would play the proverbial guardian angel and zeal for his charges until morning.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to get Dean to come out of his shell, and a visitor comes to the bunker...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First things first, I owe you an apology for my delay in updating. I just starte the equivalent of senior year of high school, and let me tell you, it's awfully hard. I've had no time or disposition, going to school at 7 o'clock and coming back home at eleven pm most days, and then there's tests, the bare minimum of social interations... Anyays, life got in the way, to make it simple. I've managed to organize my time, so now we'll have one chapter each two weeks! Sorry for the long waiting time, but the only moments I have to write are saturday afternoon and sunday, and it takes a long time for me to write. Hope you understand.  
> Secondly, a huge thank you for all your support, kindness, and comments! I love reading each and every single one.  
> Thirdly, hope you enjoy this, sorry if it seens like just a filler, but I wanted to convey Sam's emotions before we jump to the next memories, and also to set the backgrond for some things that would look kinda random if I didn't write them now.  
> Kisses and have a nice day!

 Sleep rarely came easily to Dean anymore, ever since he’d seen his mom and house burn down. But right now, he couldn’t even lay still, try as he might. The memory of Sam storming off, fury in his face, kept flashing before his eyes, even after Castiel reassured him it wasn’t his fault.

Perhaps it was because Sam looked a little like dad, and when dad got pissed like that, it was usually his fault, and it usually hurt a lot, but Dean felt his guts twisting with anxiety every time he wondered what he could have done to tick the man off.

No wonder he jumped out of bed when he heard a knock on the door.

“Yes s…Sam?”

The hunters had soon told him there was no need to address them by sir, and Dean was glad he caught himself before committing that mistake (again). They were probably already going to tell dad he was a misbehaved, annoying little idiot, no need to add “incapable of following orders” to that list.

“Hey, Dean. I wanted to apologize for storming off like that earlier, I had just learned something really bad and wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dean blinked. Once. Twice. Did a double-take. No adult had ever gone out of their way to apologize to him. Not since mom, who said you always have to apologize when you hurt someone…

And there he was, crying like a stupid baby. What would dad say?

“Dean?” There was real concern in Sam’s voice now, and he couldn’t even stop crying long enough to apologize or explain. He tried, but what came out was something like the words “No one… Since Mom… Apologize….” In between great sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay. Did something remind you of your mom?” Sam asked, crouching down to be at eyes’ level with the child.

It took a while, but right then, Sam Winchester would have waited an eternity.

“It’s just… No one, no grown up really apologizes to me, they, they don’t seem to like admitting when they’re wrong. But, but mom always said you have, have to apologize hen you hurt someone, even if you’re a grown up.” There were still tear tracks on the boy’s cheeks, but what caught Sam’s attention was the almost ashamed way Den mentioned their mother. Like talking about her was forbidden. Come to think of it, it probably was.

“It’s okay, Dean. Sometimes, when we love someone a whole lot, and we miss them a whole lot, everything reminds us of them.” Sam didn’t want to remember he had broken down crying from looking at an ad for men’s jewelry, the first time Dean had died. “Your mom sounds like she was very smart. You really should always apologize when you hurt someone.”

Dean almost felt happy. Almost let loose a smile. Then, Sam adopted that “concerned adult” face, the one teachers got before asking if everything was okay at home, the one librarians got when he talked too much and said something dad told him not to. Oh no! Now Sam would talk to dad, tell him Dean had made him worry, and they’d have to move and never see Sam and Cas again! Or worse, Social Services would get them, and Dad would go to jail and he’d never see his Sammy again!

No. He couldn’t let either of those things happen. He’d deal with the questions and be a good boy. He had to.

“Does your dad dislike apologizing, too?”

“No. He is a cool grown up. And he doesn’t really have a lot to apologize for.”

Maybe, if Dean saw himself in the mirror, right now, he’d think his façade was intact. Looking down into the big, frightened eyes, and the raised, defiant chin, however, Sam only saw the lie. The quivering chin, the emphatic tone, the need to explain that _no, there’s nothing wrong._

“That, uh, that’s good, Dean, I’m glad. Because it wouldn’t be right, if he had something to apologize for but didn’t apologize for it, you know?” Oh God, Sam needs Dean. His Dean. The one who could bond with little kids who’ been put through hell. The one who’d tell him everything was alright. The one who could make everything alright.

_Well, tough, Winchester, because if you want him back, you have to deal with this one first._

“Yes, I do know. But everything is fine.”

He could push, probably. But, seeing the defensiveness that arose with any mention of John Winchester, he’d get nowhere. Time for a diversion. Cas could help him out.

“Good. You wanna go down for breakfast? I think we have fresh orange juice.”

“Sure”

Cas was waiting for them in the kitchen, anxiety practically bouncing off the walls, but got quickly shot down by Sam’s head shake. They’d have to think of something else, because asking would do no good.

“Ham and Cheese or Peanut Butter and Jelly, Dean?”

_Some time later._

“I understand, Sam, but you have to comprehend I simply can’t. I tried. John Winchester’s soul is locked away, and only an Archangel could get him out.”

Cas rarely got intimidated by a human anymore. But, seeing his friend pacing round like a caged animal, eyes bloodshot and hair wild, he suddenly felt he could get why people had put them into the ‘Most Wanted’ List. Specially when a table got turned over.

“You know… Sam, you do know that killing him, as satisfactory as it could be, simply would do nothing for Dean?”

“Yes, Cas, I know, but I have to either do _something_ or I’ll go crazy! Dean won’t talk about it, and even if he would, what could I say? Hey, Dean, so, did you dad rape you? How do you feel about it?” The tone in his friends voice went more hysterical with each word, and, as a couple books also went to the floor, Cas had enough.

“You would do good to regain control over yourself, or would you rather Dean became scared of you again?” Rasher than necessary, probably, but it got the point across. Sam stood, sulking, arms crossed, by the doorway.

“Of course I don’t want him to be scared of me. It’s just… I feel lost. It’s like my entire life was a lie, you know? Because, I mean, I had issues with John, but I ended up making peace with them, thinking ‘he did the best he could’, and now… Now I find out that he… And also,  can’t help thinking how much harder I made life for Dean, I literally went out of my way to disagree with John, and now I wonder if he got bet for it, or worse.” Sam hides his face in his hands, and Cas knows he’s sad  to the point where no tears will come “I called him ‘Dad’s bitch’ once, when we were arguing. How could I possibly think that it was okay, Cas?”

“You didn’t know, Sam. You were a child as well, and you were both trying to survive a hostile upbringing. Dean knows you didn’t mean to hurt him any further. And your life hasn’t been a lie, Sam. Dean is still your brother, the one who loves you more than anything, the one who can be so infuriating and annoying but who’s also your best friend. What happened didn’t change that, it just proved Dean is a survivor, had always been.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make me feel any better, but I know.”

Cas was about to say something else, when they heard a loud noise, like glass shattering, and ran straight into the garage, to find…

“Charlie? What are you doing here?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever goes smoothly in a Winchester’s life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope there’s still someone reading this. I could explain, but all I’ll say is: I’m sorry. If it helps any, I wrote this on my phone l, which I hate, so I wouldn’t make you guys wait sooo much longer. Hope you enjoy this.

If Sam had known how much Charlie was going to help, he’d have called her first thing.

After the initial “What are you doing here?” And hers “What do you mean this is Dean?”, she’d fully enlisted in the mission of giving Dean vack the childhood he deserved, not faltering when they explained the visions or when Dean went to sleep as a six year old and woke up as a eight year old.

She came up with games for them to play and coerced Sam into silly interpretations of books that even Castiel laughed at. She talked with him when he felt the world was crashing down on his head, and always had a trick up her sleeve to try and make the Bunker “less gloomy and doomy” (her words).

And she absolutely wanted to murder John.

He wasn’t going to tell her. He and Cas agreed that Dean deserved that last shred of privacy preserved. But apparently, the spell didn’t agree.

_”So this is what you mean with ‘the visions give backstory?” Charlie asked, gray faced and with a weak, shaking voice, as the memory formed around them._

_They’d gone into Dean’s room to wake him up, and had suddenly been swept into an windmill of colors and sounds and feelings._

_Charlie hadn’t actually experienced a vision before (They’d had two - Sam’s first day at kindergarten and meeting Pastor Jim) and had looked around in curiosity, only to flich back in terror._

_Before then, went an horrible parade of Dean’s joke of a childhood. Getting beaten, humiliated, belted, and abused in about every way John could get away with, only to be told it was his fault or an act of love. It was worse then those hundred Tuesdays watching his brother be killed._

_Charlie and Sam had tear tracks on their cheeks and no strength on their knees upon arriving at the actual memory. They feel hard on the floor, in time to hear John call Dean from the couch._

_The little boy stood up, walking with determination to where his father sat. Sam could sense the fear, but also the love, the will to please, to be good. It was driving him crazy._

_John pat the spot beside him on the couch, prompting Dean to sit down._

_“You know you’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you, kiddo?” Drunk. Of course he’d be._

_“Thank you, dad.”_

_“It’s true. You never complain, you never bitch and whine and make a fuss. That’s why I love you.” Pause. Dean looks up, a sick feeling climbing up his throat and, consequently, Sam’s and Charlie’s. “Don’t you love me?”_

_“Of course I do! I-I love you, sir.”_

_“Good. Because I have a little gift for you.” John reaches into his pocket and retrieves a simple black necklace, with a silver ring attached to the end of it. A silver ring that matches the one on his own finger perfectly. Mary Winchester wedding band._

_“This is your mom’s wedding ring. I want you to have it. For safekeeping.” He puts it around Dean’s neck, and Sam can’t help but think he’s not imaginating the suffocating feel of it._

_“Thank you, sir. I will... I will take good care of it.”_

_“Wouldn’t have given it to you, otherwise.”_

_They stand there, and just as Sam is resigning himself to another round of watching his brother be tortured, John looks away._

_“Go to sleep, kiddo. School day tomorrow.”_

_“Yes sir. Goodnight.”_

The memory ended like that, and Sam had barely no time to run to breath before another one was formed.

_This one also had a sad backstory. Dean learning to shoot, smaller than the riffle he picked up but deadly as ever. Dean bulls-eyeing every can on a fence and feeling a disturbing amount of pride at his father’s praise._

_They landed into a darkened road, sotting in the impala as it cut through the night. John was speaking quickly and quietly, and Sam immediately knew that was Dean’s first hunt._

_The boy already knew about monsters, had learned about them and even seen John kill one, from the backseat of the Impala. But now, he was gonna do more than just watch. He was gonna help._

_Charlie was still crying a little from the previous memories, and tried to talk, but all that came out was a strangled sob. Sam’s teats had dried up, and all he could do was watch with a morbid sort of interest, as John firmly steered Dean into the path that would only hurt him._

_“Remember what I told you, Dean. Ghosts are usually easy to deal with, but they can get real nasty real soon with you don’t pay attention and do everything just like I told you. Understood?”_

_“Yes, sir. I won’t mess this up.”_

_“That’s my man.” The feverish smile was one Sam could easily recognize as John’s pre-hunt thrills. It was like nothing else truly mattered or existed, only the hunt and the mission._

_“Sir? I know I can’t move from the spot, but what if it grabs me?”_

_“Don’t worry,Dean. Follow my lead, and it’ll be alright.”_

_It very much wasn’t alright._

_Turns out, the ghost did grab him from his chosen spot as bait, throwing Dean up in the air like a rag doll. Dean managed to throw a handful full of rock salt from his knapsack at the spirit, before landing hard on the floor, breaking his wrist by the sound of it. For maybe the third time since they’d met him, the boy had a normal, childish reaction, and burst into great sobs, clutching the already swollen member close to his chest._

_John must have found the bones, because the ghost burst into flames before it could make another advance towards the weeping child. The hunter burst in and sweept Dean up into his arms, shushing him, making Sam want to throw up._

_“C’mon buddy, you did good. It’s just a minor pain, aren’t you happy the ghost is gone?”_

_“B-But But d-dad It hu-h-hurts!”_

_“I know, champ, but we got rid of it. It’s all good now. C’mon, lets wrap it up and go home.”_

_The boy clearly tries to reign in his feelings, but fails. At that, John raises an eyebrow._

_“Remember what I told you, Dean? The more monster we hunt, the less people get hurt. Don’t you want to be a hunter? This is just another day at the office, buddy.”_

_“I’m s-sorry sir.”_

_“It’s okay, you’ll do better. Won’t you?” With that, John holds the broken wrist with just a little bit more pressure than necessary, making the boy yelp and nod frantically._

_“Good. Lets go.”_

Later...

“I’m going to murder him. I’m... I’ll personally punch his face in. He’s a monster. HE IS A MONSTER.” Charlie yelled, throwing a shelf full of books into the he floor.

“Charlie, believe me, I know, but please calm down. How do you think Dean is going to react if he hears this?” Cas tried to reason, while Sam couldn’t help but agree with her.

“Probably not very well” A deep voice came from the back of the room. They all jumped around, in time to see a pale, black-haired man holding a passed out Dean close to his chest and a gun in the other, pointing it at them.

“You didn’t think we’d let such precious prey go away so merrily, did you? Perhaps you were so caught up in your little family dramas you forgot about us, dear? Well, we dislike being forgotten. Come with us, if you will, or the boy dies now.” And with that, he slowly backed away, never taking his eyez off them or letting go of the precious burden in his arms.

Sam didn’t really know a lot about those witches. What he did know was that they’d messed with the wrong family, and that everyone in the room had enough pent-up anger to decimate them. Thank God he always had a weapon on his person.

Those bitches wouldn’t know what hit them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, nothing ever goes right for them...


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those witches were crazy, but unfortunately too smart for them to do anything but acquiesce to their whims. For now at least...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a couple days? Hells yeah!
> 
> This is kind of a buildup chapter though, just a sneak peak at what is to come - In Charlie’s POV, nonetheless!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this!

Once, Charlie had sworn the Winchesters had come into her life as punishment for something. Now, following a lunatic who would probably kill her for being associated with them, she canno’t bring herself to regret anything.

They were an scarily easy to love. Maybe a little... Rough around the edges, maybe a little obsessive, maybe a little unlucky and maybe a lot stubborn. But they didn’t bat an eyelid at her weirdness and occasionally joined. But Dean had the best hugs and always knew what to say to cheer her up, and always got her references. But Sam’s smiles lit up the room and he was an amazing shoulder to cry on. But she found herself adopting those two dorks with too much baggage and too much pain. And she stands by that decision.

 

Therefore, anyone who harms them is throughoutly fucked, in her book.

 

She knows the only reason the jackass isn’t a pile of ashes is because Cas doesn’t want to risk hurting Dean. It is almost ridiculous how calmly three of the most badass people she knows (including herself and outside of fiction, of course) follow the man into a sleek, black car that had been parked outside the Bunker.

 

The group calmly gets into the car, Jackass still holding Dean like a shopping bag, a driver looking bored and impacient by him.

 

” You know, when our Texas branch told us they had transmuted a Winchester to use for the ritual, I was... Delighted. It is been long since we’ve had hunters as our... Guests of honor.”

 

”Carl, quit yapping. You already left me waiting for two hours out there, my patience is not infinite” Grumbled the driver. Douchbag (Now Carl), rolled his eyes, and promptly continued.

 

”We’ve kept our eyes on the pair of you, you know? Slightly psychotic, profoundly loyal, smart, well-trained... An almost magical ability to amass support and sympathy. You could have been great additions to our ranks, become inportant, even, if it wasn’t for that stupid boy scour code you break as often as you insist on following. But for the spell to have chose  Dean instead of one of our caefully selected offerings... I guess after he dies, we can break you enough that you will join us, can’t we, Sam? The pet angel and thw lady as well, if they will.”

 

Charlie and Cas discreetly put a hand each on Sam’s arms. Yes, he is a douchebag, but if Sam launches all 200 pounds of himself at him like he apparently intends to, it will not end up pretty for anyone.

 

The ride to wherever it is is long, exhausting, and tense. Cas keeps guard over them as they take turns napping, and eventually Dean wakes up. He makes no fuss, doesn’t yell or ask where he is, sinply looks around and assesses the situation.

 

Eventually, they get to a building that, to Charlie’s eyes, looks like an ancient library. It is huge and full of tiny windows, marble starways leading to huge doors.

 

The driver gets out first and opens the door for them, and act which has it’s niceness heavily erased by the gun pointing directly at her forehead. She can’t help but think those guys are smarter than the average goon that they send to capture the WinchestersC not letting their guards down becaus ethey are unarmed or calm.

 

”This way” Says Carl, leading them into the building, througha suntuous waiting room, along a corridor and into a room with four chairs (three very simple, one looking like a throne, occupied by an extremely pale woman in pearl robes) and a cot with straps clearly meant to hold someone down, connected to a bunch of wires abd lights and a monitor. Charlie didn’t like it one bit.

 

”Carl. Thank you for fetching them. Lay the boy down and leave.” Her voice is surprisilingly melodic, not raspy and cutting as Charlie had pictured.

 

Carl obeys Madam Douchebag, leaving Dean (who hasn’t struggled once, but looks paler and paler by the second, and won’t stop shooting them looks as if asking _what is the plan_ and _if you don’t have one, please think faster_ ) sat on the cot, eyeing everything suspiciously.

 

That is, until Flerch raises a hand on hos direction, sending him into a deep sleep, at the same time as the bounds shackle and tie him up, tiny fillets of blood dripping onto the cot from where the wires have connected with his head ina grotesque Frankstain immitation.

 

All three of them are on their feet before Dean fully hits the mattress 

 

“Sush, children. He is asleep and not in pain. You can check, if you must”

 

Sam puts a trembling hand tot he child’s neck and nods, obviously feeling a steady heartbeat. He doesn’t return to his place, earning a chuckle from M d (madam Douchebag) as he settles near the cot.

“I am Alice Fleech, owner and headmistress of this institute. I’m sure Carl has informed you of our... Interest in your family, hasn’t he?”

 

”Don’t think he knows how to talk about anything else.” Sam grunts, the jab pulling a smile on Fleech’s face.

 

”Oh, he was rather enthusiastic about going to this mission. My point is, we’ve decided to... Make a consession. We don’t necessarily need to kill the children to appease our Intended. It is simply less of a hassle. However, I have a proposition for you: Go into Dean’s brain, watch his and bring back a fragment of his Alma Matter in this frask, and you all may leave, alice and healthy and all that. Or, we can let you to watch as he is tortured and bleed dry, them kill all of you.”

 

Charlie has never received a proposition so methodically laid out to give them no option but to accept.

 

”And there’s no way you’re planning ok double crossing us, obviously.” Cas snarls , looking suddenly taller and older than ever

 

Fleech smiles, and for someone who is probably ancient and murders little kids for the kicks, Charlie thinks she must have been a pretty lady once.

 

”Well, dear, I canno’t lie” She pulls her sleeve up, revealing the celtic symbol of truth, iron branded into the pale flesh, with deep carved lines all around it. It is disturbing, but eases their worry a little.

 

”And I assure you, once your mission is conplete, all four of you will be allowed to leave, unharmed and unbothered. But time is of essence.”

 

”This won’t damage Dean, in any way, shape or form?” Sam cautiously asks, lookingready to pounce at the minimum threat.

 

”The extraction of his alma matter? Well, I can imagine it will be slightly painful, and, alongside the humiliation of it all, he might be... How do you say it? Down for a while. But he won’t go crazy, he won’t be physically hurt or have his personality or morals altered. An alma matter is different to a soul, my darling Sam, so rest assured that he won’t sell you out to be turned and molested by a vampire anytime soon.”

 

Sam visibly flinches at that, but nods, and holds out his hand for the frask. Alice sends it floating over to him. Too bad. Sam wouldn’t hesitate to crave it in her heart if she had come any closer. 

 

Charlie is kinda relieved deep down, because, knowing witches, they would never find a way to wake Dean from his sleep if she died, and then they would be screwed.

 

“You three should sit down next to him and connect one of those red wires to your left hand, on your ring finger, and the adjacent blue wire to your head, right  side of the head. You will fall asleep and go into Dean’s memories. I hope, for all of our sakes, your survive and do succeed in your mission. You will know what the fragment is when you find it. Do not wake up. Good luck”

 

Sharp wires penetrating their skin, leaving themselves open and vulnerable to crazed fanatics, Charlie’s last thought before going under was that maybe they’d finlly show Dean how he was indeed loved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> PSA:  
> Even if I take a long time to upload, I WON’T ABBANDON THIS. This is my baby.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the way you love people is the only way you can live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So I’m still writting from my phone, which sucks, so forgive me for errors (I have AN ISSUE with phone keyboards whch dates back to when I started writting fics back in 09’ and has not been solved). Hope you enjoy this! Also, I’ve caved in and created a SPN tumblr! It’s thepunishmentofwaiting, and it has some meta, hc’s, art, and miscellaneous (bitter-dean-stan) stuff. Go check it out!

Sam knew where they were even before he opened his eyes.

The metallic, stuffy air, the sounds of clutter and creaking of an old house. Bobby’s home.

Sure enough, right before them, Dean, their Dean, sat on top of a pile of beat down cars, staring as a much younger version of himself trailed behind his father, holding the hand of an apparently sleepy Sammy and nodding in response to something John said, them following Bobby into the house as the Impala drove away.

”Dean, are you okay?” Cas asks, breaking the terrible silence. Dean jumps a little at the voice.

”Yeah, peachy. The three of you aren’t half-bad at babysitting, you know. Except for the whole ‘crap they kidnapped the brat’ thing, which wasn’t really on you.” Dean answers, eyes fix on the door.

”Dean...” Sam chokes on the answer, knowning what must be going through his brother’s head right now, not knowing how to make any of it better or marginaly okay.

”I have seen this one already, so I decided to wait on you here instead. I’d forgotten how nice the view was from up here.”

The view is nice, Sam recalls. They used to spend lots of lazy days there, trying to make sense of the clouds’ shapes as they passed, taking guesses at how far away one thing or another was, or sometimes even reading when it was just too hot to be inside. Some part of him suspected Bobby kept that specific pile of junk sorely for that purpose, their own makeshit playground and treehouse and pillowfortress.

“Dean, you know we must talk about this at some point, right?” Cas interrupts their nostalgia, and Sam feels his stomach curl around itself. For one second, one blissful fucking second, he’d forgotten. Now all he can see is the little boy Dean had been, and everything he’d been through.

Dean chuckles humourlessly, turning around to face them, and Sam’s breath catches, because not only is their situation absurd and beartbreaking and maddening, not only he missed his brother like crazy, but Dean’ soul (or whatever this is) is _wearing the freaking amulet_ , the same one he’d rescued from a trash can so long ago, the same one he still carries around on his pocket at all times.

”Talk about what? How I am a disgusting, pitiful, pathetic excuse of a human being? Yeah, I know that already. How I should have acted differently, told someone, run away? Tell myself that everyday. How I put you in a dangerous position by letting you be near dad? Fuck if I don’t know. So, unless you’re gonna discuss kicking me out of the Bunker, Sam, or the whole cutting familial ties thing again, nothing to talk about here.” And he turns around again, firmly watching as the wind carries little rivers of dust into the horizon.

His little explosion leaves them all floored, dumbstruck, shell-shocked. Did he really think he’d be ostracized for John Winchester’s sins? But then again, wasn’t that how Sam had repeatedly acted, blaming Dean for what went wrong in their lives because of their father’s actions?

He signaled for Cas and Charlie to leave them alone, feeling incredibly relieved when she rolled her eyes but complied, dragging the angel away.

Sam spares a moment to organize his thoughts, then climbs all the way to the top of the junk pile, muscle memory avoiding crevices and rusty spots in a way his brain had forgotten how.

“Remember that time Bobby got real pissed at us, and climbed here because he was symbolically kicking us out?” They’d all laughed so much (and had had to help Bobby get back down) that their misdemeanor had been forgiven.

“Yeah. Bobby got a nasty cut, had to go to the hospital for the anti tetanus shot. We tried to clean the house as a surprise, you ended up with a bleached patch of hair and I, a broken leg.” Dean smiled, full lips not quite parting, eyes not quite making contact, but it was something.

“You still tried to climb up here the next day.”

They allowed the silence to go on for a few seconds, before Dean sighed and looked Sam in the eyes.

“Why the nostalgia session? I mean, it’s nice and all, but...”

“Because I wanted you to remember that there’s nothing disgusting, sick or pathetic about you, Dean. You’re my brother, you’re the person I care the most about in the world, and what John did to you when we were kids doesn’t change any of that.”

Dean looks up, apparently surprised by Sam’s soft tone and choice of words.

“I know I have never been really good at this whole “being supportive” thing with you. I know I have let you down when you needed me. Because I guess I never saw you as someone who needed it, you know? You were this fortress of a person, nothing could stop you, death didn’t put you out for good. But I want you to know that I will always be on your side, ok? This wasn’t your fault, you were a kid trying to survive a fucked-up life, you didn’t put me in danger because it wasn’t your responsibility.”

Dean turns to him, eyes brimmed with tears.

“Screw you. Seriously. I had managed not to cry up until now.”

“You really though I was gonna kick you out of the Bunker?”

A blush spreads over Dean’s cheeks.

“I was... Not in a good mindset right then. I mean, I just... Spilled out a lot of crap. Don’t take it seriously.”

Sam lets out a tiny, muffled laugh, knowing this is just another something they will have to discuss, relieved Dean at least recognizes it was absurd in the first place.

“Hey, guys?” Charlie yells from the ground, making both of them jump and Dean almost slide down to the floor. “I hate to interrupt, but the evil psycho told us time was of essence or some crap like that, so...”

They look at each other and climb down, Dean slightly more reluctantly.

Charlie barely waits until they’re on the ground to wrap Dean in a bear hug to rival a chokehold.

“You’re an idiot. Don’t ever say crap like that about yourself. Like. Ever again. I’d have to kill you. And then myself. Cause no one messes with you and survives me.”

  
“Ok, Charlie, got the memo.”

Cas looks slightly disgruntled as he hugs Dean himself. Maybe because his comment disturbed him, or because he feels bad in other ways about the situation. Either way, the hug seems to put both more at ease, and even makes Dean crack a tiny smile.

“Is there something we must know before we go into this memory?” Sam asks, slightly nervous. Watching the bad ones was stomach-turning already, watching them with Dean would make him throw up.

“Nah. This was our third or fourth time at Bobby’s, he gave us ice cream.” Dean shook his head, obviously knowing something else would happen, but not wanting to share.

They wait a little while, Dean maintaining his “everything is fine” face very firmly but resolutely not looking at any of them, until the Impala comes back again.

“John! Dean! Sam!” Bobby waves at them as John stops the car and gets out “Been waiting for you idjits so long, I thought you’d have to salt’n’burn my bones when you got there!”

“Yeah, things got messy on the road. I won’t be gone too long, just enough time to enroll them in some school and find a rental.” John turns around to face the boys. “Now, you teo behave, listen to Bobby, don’t go snooping around. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks, Bobby. See you soon.” The oldest Winchester throws oves his shoulder as he makes his way to the car and drives away.

Bobby mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “If I didn’t like you idjits so much...” before gesturing for the kids to follow him.

“Uncle Bobby?” Sam asks, yawning half-way through the words “Can we go to sleep? The road was bumbpy!”

“Oh, well, sure you can. I mean, I will have to eat that entire gallon of ice cream that is on my fridge by myself, but I can do that for you boys.” Sam didn’t listen to half of the answer, running to the kitchen yelling “Ice Cream!” and giving Rumsfeld a fright.

“I swear that kid would eat his weigh in sugar if we let’im.” Bobby shakes his head.

“He tries.” Young Dean agrees, shaking his head.

Sam shakes his head at how much has changed since them, although he does still have a sweet tooth a mile wild.

“Lets get to the kitchen before the little brat eats the whole pint by himself.”

When they got to the kitchen, a very determined Sam was trying to pull a chair closer to the fridge so he could climb on and open it, but wasn’t being very successful. The results were rather hilarious, as the kid got redder and redder, huffing and puffing and wrestling the heavy chair, until Dean took pity and opened it, taking the desired Ice Cream out and scooping a generous amount on the three bowls Bobby had laid in front of them.

“Classes going good, Dean?” Bobby asked, while Sam stuffed his face to the point where little white specks where splattered on his face, hair, and clothes.

“Yeah” The boys expression darkened for a second, and he stabbed his spoon on his bowl before pushing it away, sulking.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that. Spill it, kid.”

“It’s stupid.”

“You ain’t eating yer ice cream. Doesn’t sound stupid to me.”

“Dean’s sad because of a party!” Sam happily shouted, making the older boy’s expression turn sourer and sourer.

The four mind travelers exchanged looks, Dean blushing slightly, Sam confused and Charlie’s and Cas’s eyebrows almost disappearing under their hair.

“There was gonna be this stupid party at my old school, for the kids who got all tens and read all the books the teacher asked and got all those stupid stars, every day. I was supposed to be there, but dad said we had to move.”

Now is Sam’s turn to be surprised. Dean being a straight-A, reader, star student? That was unexpected.

“I know why we had to move, but it could wait a little longer!” The feeling from the memories are still reverberating through the “visitors”, so the wave of frustration that washes over them is met knowingly but still surprises them.

“Dad didn’t even care I was top of my classes! It’s like, no matter what, it’s never good enough...” The scene is heartbreaking, actually. Because Dean has been downright abused by the man in question, and all he asks for is a little acknowledgement for his work.

Bobby stands up and shakes his head, anger clouding over his features, which Dean doesn’t see.

“If ya daddy didn’t care yer got top of yer classes, then why the hell did he call me and ask me to do a lil’ something for ya?” And turns around, a pie held tight in one hand and a bottle of soda on the other, both items which had obviously been there simply because the boys were visiting, not because of a non-existing request.

However, to the tiny Dean sitting at the table, it’s like the sun’s come out of hiding.

“He remembered?” The boy asks, as Sam claps enthusiastically, oblivious to the drops of melted, sticky ice cream goo that fly from his hands.

“Course he did, kid. Yer daddy may be a big bull headed idjit, but he sure cares about you two. Never doubt that.” Bobby ruffles Dean’s hair, clears his throat awkwardly, and suggests they all dig in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love adult Dean too freaking much to have him stay away for long. Hope you guys enjoyed it, feedback is always appreciatted!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated!


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